


Reprieve

by turtlebook



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bad Poetry, F/M, First Time, Kane is an adorable fool in love, Mockery, Surprisingly Fluffy, i mean under the circumstances, vague smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-20
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-09-18 18:47:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9398237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turtlebook/pseuds/turtlebook
Summary: Abby and Marcus carve some time for themselves out of the chaos, and look to the future.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set directly following the season three finale. There must be a thousand fics like this out there already - I guess I needed to get one more in before the new season starts. 
> 
> No spoilers, merely a tiny bit of speculation based on the season four trailer.

It was late at night when Abby and Marcus, hand in hand, walked through the quiet hallways of the Commander's tower. 

Their plans for the days ahead were set, and it had been decided they would be heading out in the morning - in different directions. They each had their own responsibilities, as always, and it was never a question for either of them to set them aside just because it meant they would be saying goodbye again.

 _Again._ When it felt like they had only just found each other. When they had barely even begun to discover what this was between them.

It didn't matter, in the end. Abby would do what she had to do, and so, she knew, would he.

But those were concerns for the morning. Flickering tallow candles on the wall lit the way as they slowly moved from door to door, not in any great rush, but with one destination in mind:

A room. Any room, really, so long as it was unoccupied, and private.

Her fingers were curled around Marcus's, and his grip in return was reassuringly firm. Some of those who had been nailed to the cross would be left with lasting damage to nerves and tendons, but thankfully her assessment of his injuries had revealed he would be able to heal completely. Physically, at least.

But no, Abby thought as she squeezed his hand and Marcus's hand tightened in response, his thumb rubbing over the back of hers. That one small point of contact was thrilling in all its promise of more and this was what she tried to remain focused on. Because right now she didn't want to think about the holes in his wrists or the deep cuts in her daughter's chest - the incisions Abby had made herself with such careful, surgical precision. 

Apologies had already been made on all sides, painfully, through tears. It was enough.

Now was not the time for any of that. The world was ending in six months, and she had this one night's reprieve - just a few hours - to spend in whatever way she chose, with whomever she chose. And so here she was, with Marcus's hand in hers.

They hadn't discussed it. 

After the meeting Clarke had said goodnight and disappeared into the Commander's quarters, and Abby had stood there while the others began to disperse one by one to find somewhere to bunk down for the night. She hadn't moved until Marcus had made his presence known, standing at her side as he had been almost constantly since he had come back to himself from the City of Light.

They were going to be parting ways in the morning. Knowing this, they had looked at each other for a long moment as quiet understanding passed between them. And then Abby had reached out her hand.

"Here," she said, keeping her voice low even though there wasn't anyone else around. Opening a door had revealed a small chamber, sparsely furnished. Certainly no one important had ever spent any time here, but: "There's a bed."

"Good," Marcus said, looking past her into the room. She turned her head to catch his eye. His jaw twitched and he stammered slightly. "Uh, I mean..."

She grinned. "No, it is good. Come on."

He crossed the threshold close on her heels. She turned as the door closed behind them, and her arms came up around him as he reached for her and then the only thing in her mind was him.

And them.

And _finally_.

The horrors that ALIE had wrought upon them faded away. The new disaster looming over their heads couldn't touch them.

They stripped themselves bare before each other and came together gently, hesitantly at first - and then with growing confidence and fervour as care and patience gave way to a heady lust that swelled between them with every caress, every deepening kiss.

His large hands felt so good everywhere they touched her, and she couldn't get enough of the taste of him, his mouth, his skin. The feel of him as their bodies aligned and they wrapped themselves around each other and moved together was incredible, this new intimacy only building on what had been growing between them for a long time.

In long, drawn out moments of passion she was caught, suspended, between the physical sensations overtaking all her control and the recognition of what was in his eyes as he stared at her with all that desperate wonder and joy. Because she felt it, too. She was so very grateful for him. She was so glad to be reminded how much pleasure her body was capable of feeling. And so relieved that she could still do this; that her ability to give herself to a man and take all that he had to offer in return hadn't died with her husband. 

As the urgency of their desires ebbed away and they were left once again with only tenderness between them Abby almost laughed as she came to the realisation that she was happy.

Despite everything that had happened and everything that was going to happen, right here and now she was actually _happy_.

It was so foreign to her usual state of being she'd almost forgotten what it felt like. And if she could feel like this when they were facing the advent of a second nuclear cataclysm - well, then just about anything was possible.

She moved her head a fraction so she could press a kiss to Marcus's chest which rose and fell steadily beneath her. She lay stretched out on top of him, their legs slotted together and her chin sitting over his sternum. As they lay there peacefully his hands moved over her bare skin; sliding slowly up and down her back, fingertips trailing along her arms, palms skimming her sides and softly rounding her hips, down her thighs as far as he could reach and then back up to cover the same meandering path all over again. His touch was light and unhurried, no apparent intent behind it other than mapping the landscape of her body with his questing fingers.

His eyes were closed and his expression placid and were it not for the way he was touching her she would have thought he'd fallen asleep. 

"What do you want to do after this?" she said, almost in a whisper. They were the first coherent words either of them had spoken for some time.

Marcus's eyebrows lifted as he considered the question. His lips turned up in a smile. Then, almost as an afterthought, he opened his eyes to regard her. "Well, we should probably try and get _some_ sleep tonight. It must be only a few hours till dawn."

His fingers sifted idly through the ends of her hair spread across her shoulders, the soft tickling sensation making her smile as much as his answer did. 

"Mm, no, that's not what I meant," she said. "I was thinking more long term. What do you want to do... after."

"After?"

She sighed, propping her chin on one curled fist while the fingers of her other hand traced spiral patterns across his chest. "Yeah, after. After all of this is over. After... all of us are okay, we all survive what's coming. My daughter's safe, and we - there's no more threats, no more fighting. No radiation sickness." He was staring at her, clearly unsure how to respond, and she shrugged. "It could happen. That's the plan, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said slowly. "So we've established peace in this hypothetical scenario?"

"Of course. We manage that while saving the world."

"Right. Of course."

"And then we are faced with the question: what now?"

"Hm. All right, well, I think after all of that, we might still want to get some sleep. It sounds exhausting."

She laughed softly, pleased he was willing to play along. "Okay, so a nap is first on the agenda."

"Well, for me, at least. I'll try and convince you to join me."

"I'll let you convince me."

"That will be a first."

"Well that's the idea. A whole new world. We'll be free to do whatever we want. Sleep for days, or..."

"Or?" He seemed highly interested in what that 'or' might be.

She smiled teasingly. "I don't know. I'm asking you."

He responded, as she suspected he would, to the hint of challenge in her voice. He nodded once and then brought his hands up to rest behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling and considered his answer. 

She was sure he had no idea how incredibly attractive he was at that moment, sprawled out and relaxed with his sex-tousled hair, strong arm muscles pleasingly defined, and with that thoughtful, intelligent expression on his face. 

"Well," he said eventually, "first of all, I think I want somewhere to live that isn't those cramped station quarters. Which I suppose means I need to build a house. I'll ask - I think I'll ask Wick to help. Pretty sure he owes me some free labour, or at least some advice. To go with what I'm sure will be a great deal of mockery."

"A house sounds good. In Arkadia?"

He shrugged, the movement of his body beneath her shifting her along with it. "Maybe not. Somewhere close, though, just with a little more privacy. Somewhere quiet. With a nice view, and uh, some bookshelves. If I have all this free time on my hands, I'm going to do a lot of reading. Maybe some fishing, too, that's always sounded pleasant. I might also need some kind of... jetty? To tie up the boat. I suppose it can't be as difficult as I imagine it must be to build a boat - not after an entire house, anyway."

"So our house is by the water?"

His face was lit with delight suddenly; it was why she said it. 

"Yes, our house is by the water." His voice was thick with emotion.

"Good. I like that."

He lifted his hand to stroke her hair back behind her ear. "What about you? What do you want to do?"

"Well, I could come fishing with you. And I want to learn how to swim. And plant a garden - nothing useful or edible, only flowers. Just beautiful, growing things."

"That sounds nice. I want to sleep in a lot."

"I want to lie in the sun and do nothing but... get sunburned."

"I want to write poetry."

They'd both been throwing out random thoughts but this one made her look up with interest. "Really?"

He looked sheepish at the admission, rubbing his hand over his beard. "Maybe, yes. Uh, I used to, back when I was a teenager... a very moody teenager. Misunderstood by everyone." He huffed a self-deprecating laugh. "God, I've never told anyone that. I certainly never let anyone read any of it, which I assure you was for the best. It was terrible." 

She remembered him from those days, though they'd never been close as kids. It was so endearing to think of that tall, serious boy, with his dark hair always flopping over his eyes, secretly expressing his sensitive adolescent feelings in verse.

Endearing, yes, and also amusing. "I'm sure it wasn't that bad."

"No, it was. And if I ever tried again, it would be just as bad, I'm sure."

"Who knows? You're not quite so moody these days, after all." She stroked his face to temper the mockery, mild though it was. "And I hope you don't feel misunderstood. You should definitely write again, if you want to." 

He leaned into the touch of her palm on his cheek. "All right, I will. Someday."

"Good. But you have to let me read it."

"Oh I'm going to _make_ you read it. And I want you to lie to me and tell me I'm wonderful."

They were grinning broadly at each other now. Seeing him happy like this was a pleasure no less satisfying than the physical release they'd just shared. God, did she adore this man. 

"You're wonderful," she told him.

"Good, it's good you're getting some practice in now."

"You are wonderful."

He rolled his eyes, making a dismissive sound. "Lies."

"Marcus." He was still looking amused, still thinking she was teasing. She moved suddenly, pushing herself up so her arms were braced on either side of him and she could look down directly into his face. "I love you. Am I lying?"

His breath caught and he stared up at her with something like disbelief, though it faded quickly. "No. No, I believe you."

"You should. Because even if none of it ever happens - all those things we said - it's still true. Wanting what we want - it's real. Loving you is real."

"I love you, too." It burst from his lips like something wild kept restrained for too long. And then his arms were tight around her as he pulled her into a kiss, and the world turned over as he rolled her onto her back. His lips were warm and firm on hers and then abruptly gone as he drew back and more words poured out of him. "I love you. I - I really, I can't even tell you... I just, I..."

His stammering admission trailed off and he just stared down at her helplessly. Taking pity on him, she craned up and kissed his whiskery chin. "Well come on, Shakespeare, now's your chance."

He relaxed, his momentary desperation giving way to a rueful laugh. "I clearly should not have trusted you with that information."

"Maybe not, because I'm taking full advantage of the situation. I think I want to hear some terrible poetry. So let's hear it."

He looked at her in exasperation. "No."

She kissed him again, his cheek and then the corner of his mouth, stroking her hand through his hair. "Please?" she asked sweetly.

He relented immediately. "Okay. I just - I'm completely unprepared for this."

"All the better."

He sighed heavily. "Fine. You asked for it. Uh, roses are red -"

She snorted. "Oh god."

"Quiet please." He settled himself more comfortably beside her, his head propped on his hand and an arm draped over her stomach, and then began to recite: "Roses are red, and ah, and earth is so green. Your eyes are the most beautiful that I've ever seen."

"Wonderful."

"Thanks."

"Wow. It even rhymed."

"That was only the first verse," he said, clearly warming to the idea. "Here's the second: Roses are red, horses are brown -"

" _Horses?_ "

"Yes," he frowned down at her, "horses are brown."

"I mean, some of them are."

"The ones in this poem are brown. Trust me. It's a metaphor."

"For what?" she said. He hesitated. "Do you even know?"

"Altruism."

"Altruism," she repeated slowly as he maintained a completely serious expression, not cracking for even a second.

She should never have mocked him, she realised. He had taken up the gauntlet and was now going to come up with the most silly, trite nonsense he possibly could, and enjoy doing it, purely on principle.

"Now I have to start over," he chided. "Roses are red, horses are brown -"

"What about the grey ones, or the ones with spots? What are they, metaphorically speaking?"

"I don't know, they're in a different poem. Can I finish? Thank you. Roses are red, horses are brown... As long as you're smiling, I'll never frown."

She covered her face with her hands. "I'm going to sleep."

"But I'm just getting started." He cleared his throat. "Roses are red -"

"Again?"

"It's a theme. Recurring symbolism is important in all great works of literature, try to keep up, Abby." She uncovered her face to glare at him. Blithely, he went on. "Roses are red, daisies are yellow. You make me feel like -"

"Oh my god, don't."

"- Like one lucky fellow."

"Am I supposed to still be lying about how brilliant you are?"

"I believe that was the deal."

"Okay, well that was your best one yet. No point even trying to top it. You've reached a pinnacle."

"Oh no, not even close, I think I'm on a roll, here. I should be writing this stuff down. Roses are red, violets -"

"Okay, stop," she said, finally giving in to a fit of helpless giggles. "Please, no more. Save some of that genius for later - a lot later, when I'm old and deaf."

He attempted to hide his smile, but failed, clearly so pleased to have made her laugh. "All right, if that's what you want." He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Go to sleep, Abby."

Marcus rose briefly to put out the low flame of the single oil lamp lighting the room, and then he drew up the woven blanket from the foot of the bed where it had lain so far unused - the two of them far too busy keeping each other warm to mind the night air coming in through the window. In the dark she kissed him again and then turned on her side so he was spooned up behind her. 

It seemed a nice prospect to fall asleep in the arms of the man she loved. She'd slept alone for long enough. 

She closed her eyes and tried to stay right here in this sweet, tender place with him - with this wonderful man who would do whatever he could, including making a fool of himself, just to see her smile. But as safe as she felt with his large frame pressed so close, his strong arms holding her, it was all too fleeting suddenly, too fragile. 

She hugged his arm that lay across her chest, his bandaged wrist cradled gently in her hands just under her chin. In the morning she was going to tell Clarke to be sure to check his wrists for signs of infection in the days ahead, and to see that he kept the dressings clean and dry. Abby Griffin's daughter of course knew to do those things for her own injuries - for the incisions on her chest; the exit wound the Flame had made at the back of her neck; the myriad minor cuts and abrasions she seemed to amass daily in her life here on the ground. 

Abby hated that she wouldn't be there to take care of them herself. On the Ark, her life had been spent always knowing the people she loved were as safe as they could be - until the day they weren't. She had never regained that certainty and likely never would. That was the reality she had been valiantly denying for this brief moment out of time here with Marcus. 

She tried to picture it again, that idyllic future where she grew flowers and learned to swim and went to sleep with Marcus beside her every night. She had always been able to hope for the best, to see the possibility of something better in every situation. Right now, though, she found she needed some help.

"Marcus." 

"Yes?" He responded too quickly to have been anywhere close to sleep himself. 

"Keep going? Please."

He was quiet for a long moment and she was afraid he didn't understand, but he did. Of course he did. 

Of course he wanted to keep the lie going just a little longer, the same as her.

He curled himself more closely around her, his face pressed alongside hers, and his voice as he started to speak was low in the darkness. "Roses are red, violets are blue..."

Neither of them would sleep tonight, she knew, but at least this once they would greet the dawn together.


End file.
